Play Me False: A Small Town Romantic Suspense Novel (Lucy Falls) by ER Whyte

Author:ER Whyte [Whyte, ER]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whyte House Publications
Published: 2022-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Wyatt

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That didn’t go as planned. It only takes a microsecond, or so it seems, for Harry to go completely off the rails and jump from the car into the pouring rain. Except her leg gets hung up and before I can catch her, she’s sprawled out on the driveway, sobbing as if her heart is broken.

Maybe it is. I have yet to ask how she really felt about Marcus Lane. Maybe she still loves the bastard. But that’s neither here nor there.

“Fuck, Harry…” I jump after her and scoop her up and into my chest. “That is not what I meant when I told you to cry—” At a glance, I can see a few mild abrasions on her face, as if she used her forehead to catch herself, and several brutal ones on her hands. I wince. Those are going to hurt.

She punches me ineffectually in the neck and cries harder. “Fuck you.”

I let Sugar out and then kick the car door closed, hitching her closer to me with one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back so I can hold her close. “Yeah, definitely fuck me, and not the fun way. I deserve that.”

We’re getting soaked, the cold rain uncaring that neither of us are wearing coats. Steps brisk, I carry her to the front door, pausing while she gives me a six-digit code to unlock the modern keypad that’s at complete odds with the house’s old-fashioned colonialism, and then take her inside. The dog follows closely, watching me with a keen, too-human gaze. I like this house Harry’s moved into since the bridge, even if it does belong to that Jack guy. It’s a more modest, time-worn model on the other side of town, and feels more like Harry. Even in the pouring rain, I can appreciate the obvious craftsmanship of the build.

Inside, the house is dim and quiet, shadows draping heart pine flooring, high ceilings, and walls the color of old cream. Boxes are piled here and there among random pieces of furniture; it’s clear Harry’s still settling in.

“Bathroom?” I was here, helping her move in, but damned if I remember where everything is. She points without speaking and after navigating a darkened bedroom with more piles of boxes, I find the master bath.

The vanity light is bright after the lack of sun and general gloom of the empty house. Harry blinks as I flick it on and set her on the sink counter, then regards me soberly as I brush her hair out of her face and inspect her more carefully than I was able to outside. I shake my head. “You’re a mess, Red.” She’s sopping wet and covered in tiny bits of gravel from the driveway, the skin on her forehead and palms angry and abraded.

“Your fault,” she mutters.

Picking up a washcloth sitting beside the sink, I wet it and then begin to clean her cuts. “I’m sorry.”

Her tears are mostly done, but her eyes remain wet and accusatory.

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